Year of the Spark: October 18 to 19
by Sparky Army
Summary: Birthday miracles are hard to come by, but John is about to get one, even though it isn't HIS birthday. References to "Ghost in the Machine".
1. Part I

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**We, the Sparky Army, decree 2008 to be the Year of the Spark. We pledge to post a new sparky story or chapter of a sparky story every day from January 1, 2008 to December 31, 2008. Though the Powers that Be have removed Elizabeth Weir from the regular cast of Stargate Atlantis, we feel that she remains an integral part of the show, and that the relationship between her and John Sheppard is too obvious to be ignored. We hope that you, and anyone might happen to read these works, agree.  
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**And if that isn't official enough for you, we don't know what is. Seriously, guys, we're just trying to have some fun--and show TPTB that Sparky is the way to go. So sit back and enjoy the 366 stories coming your way! **

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Dear Readers,

_I had no idea what to write, and then suddenly, this came to me. I hope you like it! Please don't forget to review, of course :)_

_Best regards from a Bookworm (and almost legal adult SGA fan),_

_Miss Pookamonga ;-P_

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****The Frequency of Memory**

_**Part I**_

He was trying to avoid everyone as much as possible.

But did it really have to be that way? Especially for the second year in a row now?

Almost two years. He had never thought it would be that long.

But it had been since they'd first lost her, and then, as if Fate had thought it hadn't been cruel enough, they'd found her almost two years later, only to lose her yet again. It was as if she was cursed, as if they were all cursed. No one could quite explain it—and no one wanted to. All they wanted was to get her back.

But chances of that were slim to none. There was no possible way Woolsey would allow her and her companions to set foot on Atlantis again, at least not any time soon. The man was too cautious, too afraid of stepping over the line. It wasn't going to happen, not on his watch.

So John Sheppard resorted to do the only thing he could think to do on that damned day that had once been her birthday—that was, to sprawl out on his bed and stare at the ceiling until he fell asleep and woke up the next morning.

Everyone was particularly solemn on this day; even Rodney remained uncharacteristically less talkative while doing his lab work. Pretty much everyone had that sense of sacred respect one would normally give the dead, while at the same time each person strained to find some way to keep his or her mind off the dreaded subject.

Rodney drowned himself in his work. Numbers and figures were the easiest way for him to deal with grief, and they were his best outlet for venting frustration. Not to mention they purged his mind of any other possible thought process unrelated to them.

Ronon resorted to sparring against the empty air in the gym, or perhaps doing some lengthy rounds of target practice. It made it easier for him to forget if he was too preoccupied with appearing aggressive.

Teyla meditated. She, more so the rest of them, found it somewhat simpler to accept present situations and move beyond them. That wasn't to say that she wasn't affected—she most certainly was—but she was wiser in the fact that she knew that being at peace with whatever crap life threw at you was the better option than brooding.

And then there was John.

He could've been distracting himself playing golf, he told himself like he'd spent this day telling himself the same thing last year. But something clicked whenever he woke up on her birthday—some innate sense that let him know exactly what day it was—and he instantly slipped into a depressed lethargic state. He felt no motivation to do anything; he had no desire to eat, sleep, drink beer, play golf, watch television—he just lay there nearly motionless, almost dead. He felt dead to the world, in fact. As if by stealing her, Fate had taken his own life too.

He sighed dejectedly and squeezed his eyes shut. If only this day could pass more quickly than it was passing at the present moment. If only her face wouldn't keep showing up in his head every time he closed his eyes.

He was so immersed in his state of indifferent stupor that he didn't hear the little voice on the computer declaring, "You've got mail!" in that annoyingly over-excited tone. It was only after a few seconds that he realized that he had indeed received a message, and he reluctantly rolled over on his bed and sat up to look at the screen of his laptop sitting atop the nightstand.

The message had no title, and oddly, there didn't seem to be an address from the sender. It was probably junk mail, he figured, so he decided to lie back down.

For some unknown reason, however, he felt an odd twinge of curiosity tugging at him.

So, dismissing the sudden urge as just another "adventurous" tendency, he sat back up and clicked on the message.

But the moment he did, he heard a thunderous _crack, _and everything instantly went dark.


	2. Part II

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_**

We, the Sparky Army, decree 2008 to be the Year of the Spark. We pledge to post a new sparky story or chapter of a sparky story every day from January 1, 2008 to December 31, 2008. Though the Powers that Be have removed Elizabeth Weir from the regular cast of Stargate Atlantis, we feel that she remains an integral part of the show, and that the relationship between her and John Sheppard is too obvious to be ignored. We hope that you, and anyone might happen to read these works, agree.

**_And if that isn't official enough for you, we don't know what is. Seriously, guys, we're just trying to have some fun--and show TPTB that Sparky is the way to go. So sit back and enjoy the 366 stories coming your way! _**

* * *

_Dear Readers,_

_Here's the second part! Hope you enjoy._

_Best regards from a Bookworm (and SAVE SGA advocate),_

_Miss Pookamonga ;-P _

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_**Part II**_

John shot up from his bed the instant the power blacked out. What the hell was going on? He tapped on his earpiece to see if it was working and called out to anyone who could hear him, but no one replied. An eerie feeling of foreboding suddenly crept up from his toes all the way to his head, and he shivered. Whatever was going on, it couldn't be good, that was for sure.

He carefully headed in the direction of the door, holding his hands outstretched so he wouldn't crash into anything by accident. When his hands finally hit the surface of the door, he groped around in the darkness until he found the console beside it and waved his hand, hoping that the only thing broken on it was the little blue light. But his hopes were instantly dashed when nothing happened.

Damn it. He was stuck.

If only he'd picked a room with a freaking window...

John groaned and trudged cautiously back to his bed and slumped down upon it. He hated being helpless in any situation. If he'd had a gun with him, he could've shot the door open. Or a crowbar...then he could've pried it open. Or maybe a flashlight, just so he could see. He knew he had one of those, but he had no idea where he'd put it, so using that was out of the question. There was no way he'd find it in the dark.

But just as he was about to lie back down on the bed in utter defeat, a bright light suddenly flashed on the computer and then disappeared within a second. John scooted over to the nightstand and peered inquisitively at the now black screen on his laptop. Maybe his mind was playing tricks on him...but he swore he'd seen something.

He considered attempting to radio someone again, but the light suddenly flashed again, and this time he just barely made out that it was a word. What word, he didn't know, but he had seen letters lined up together in the center of the screen before they had disappeared again.

Feeling chills creep up and down his spine at the strange occurrences, he stared intently at the screen, hoping that the word would flash again. And then, within a few more seconds, it did, barely lingering before it disappeared once more.

But this time, he'd seen the word.

Not so much a word as it was a name.

_His _name.

"John." The name flashed yet again.

John gulped and cold shivers began racking his entire body, but his eyes somehow remained glued to the screen. Then...

Another flash.

But now, the word stayed.

"Hello."

John just stared.

He didn't even notice his fingers moving automatically towards the keyboard until he could already see his question typed out in glowing white letters across the screen.

"Who are you?"

There was nothing for a few seconds. Then...

"You know. I've done this before."

A peculiar sense of déjà vu suddenly struck him, but it was nothing compared to the surge of hope and boyish delight that overtook him.

"How...did you short out the entire city again?"

The answer this time was immediate. "No. Just your quarters. I was only trying to access you, not the main computer system."

He felt a strange but familiar twinge of pride at the statement. Pride that he'd only ever felt when she'd paid special attention to him.

"Oh." He didn't know what else to type. It would be more than mildly embarrassing to pour his heart out all in one instance, although he knew he probably should, given the fact that he would possibly never get to talk to her again.

Uncannily, she seemed to read his mind. "I can do this whenever you like, John. I just can't stay long when I do."

His heart swelled at that. "Can you figure out how to do it without scaring the crap out of me like you just did? And by the way, how are you doing this if you're consciousness or whatever isn't a stream of subspace energy anymore?"

He could have sworn he heard her laughing. "I'll try, but this is the first time I've tried to do this with just your computer. It's incredibly hard to get past all the security barriers Rodney's put up."

He chuckled. "And my second question?"

"It didn't take me long to discover that although I have a physical body of sorts now, my subconscious link to subspace signals is still quite fresh. It's almost like a psychic ability. I can spontaneously tap into a subspace frequency while still remaining in my body, and my consciousness can, let's say, 'telepathically', travel from source to source."

"Well, that's certainly a nice arrangement."

A smiley face appeared on the screen. His face broke into a grin.

"Just don't tell anyone else of this, John? Not yet anyway. If word gets out too soon, the wrong people may hear."

He knew she meant Woolsey. There was no telling how he would react to this kind of thing again. Besides, he still didn't fully believe that it was really _her_.

"I won't; you have my word."

"I always knew I could trust you, John."

He felt a lump form his throat. He didn't deserve her trust, not after what he'd let them do to her.

"I'm sorry."

He imagined her laying a hand on his shoulder as she spoke the words that appeared next. "It's not your fault. I knew something like that was going to happen."

"Still," he protested.

"Nothing can be done about it now, John. Don't waste away trying to fix something you can't."

"But maybe I can fix it. I just don't know how."

"Maybe, but don't rush. I'm fine. We're fine. Trust me, the more you rush, the more complicated this becomes. Just leave things as they are for now."

He frowned, attempting to swallow back what he denied were tears, but knowing full-well that whatever she said had precedence over what he could try to argue. It wasn't fair, the situation she was in, but he knew that he couldn't rush in to rescue her either. The IOA would probably have him removed, which was the last thing anybody needed.

"John?"

He sighed. "Yes?"

"I can't stay much longer."

"Okay."

Then he remembered.

"Happy birthday, by the way," he wrote.

Another smiley face. He smiled back. "Thank you."

Suddenly, the screen began displaying a seizure of multicolored lights, and the lights in John's room began to flicker chaotically. Then, he heard another thunderous _crack_, and the lights stabilized along with the computer screen.

She was gone.

For now.

But at least he didn't have to spend the rest of the day sulking. He was hungry. Maybe he would go to the mess hall and get himself some cake.

After all, a birthday wasn't a birthday if you didn't celebrate it.


End file.
